


Fall Away

by alex_jones



Category: Doctor Who, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Based on a Twenty One Pilots Song, Character Death, Coming Out, Death date, Death time, Disowning, Doctor Who References, Escaping Death, F/F, Headless Monks, Homophobia, Horse Racing, M/M, Multi, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Religion, Song Inspired, Texas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-23 00:30:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15594249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_jones/pseuds/alex_jones
Summary: Young Texan jockey Alfred Jones lives a perfectly normal life, when a mysterious white paper with his name on it turns everything upside down, making each horrible thing happen to him in a span of twenty four hours, until he has no more time in this world.Will his long time crush Arthur Kirkland be there to save him before it is too late?Let's find out!-inspired by Twenty One Pilots and Doctor Who





	Fall Away

Fall Away

 

The sun was shining over the dusty trails of Texas, illuminating the ground and making it feel as if everything was going to burn beneath Alfred’s feet. Not a single trace of wind, what a misfortune. To believe he forgot to bring his sun hat and protect himself from the zenith heat, as if he hadn’t lived in the Lone Star State all his life and wasn’t used to the fierceness of its sunshine. Drops of sweat rolled down his forehead, his white t-shirt uncomfortably sticking to his back, thank goodness he didn’t wear black today. That would be an even bigger failure. Running his fingers through his hair, he noticed it was just as wet as if he had just taken a shower. He must have looked awful, he thought to himself. Days like these were when he hated living in Texas and wished he could jump into the coldness of the Baltic sea to cool off. Yes, Finland seemed like a dreamland on days like these. Too bad it was more than an ocean away. 

Who was he, anyway? And why was he stupid enough not to bring a bottle of water with him into the sun?

His full name was Alfred Jones, a nineteen year old boy who loved horse riding more than anything in this world. He knew he must have disappointed his father by dropping out of college to pursue his dream, but it didn’t matter much. Whenever the man complained, Alfred would just pull out the card and say that he did the same, and ended his education just to get married. Of course, that would bring them back into a fight at the mention of his mother who wasn’t with them anymore, but the boy didn’t care. He had a sharp tongue and his comebacks hurt when he wanted them to. That was why he spent most of his time outside of the house lately - he didn’t want to be around his father much while they were on bad terms.  
Alfred nearly always had a smile on his face. Despite having a past that would put most people into a spiral of negativity, he had more of a futuristic mindset that didn’t get caught up in sadness too much. Instead, he replaced any pessimistic thought with a brighter one, such as the fact he had a lot of friends who were always there for him, he was living his dream, and whatever happened when he was younger wouldn’t happen ever again. Not many people have the ability to think like that, so he considered himself grateful for it.

'How can you laugh so carelessly? Doesn’t it hurt, the thought of what she used to do to you?' He heard people ask.  
No, it didn’t hurt him anymore. His mother might have been an emotionally unstable person who lashed out all her anger on her two sons, Alfred and his older brother Matthew, but he didn’t wallow in self pity. Because of that, plenty of people looked at him with admiration. 

His brother, on the other hand, didn’t feel the same about it. Matthew often felt like his younger sibling was simply hiding his emotions not to hurt the people around him, but that wasn’t the case with Alfred. He was just a happy person, a natural optimist, there wasn’t much more to it. If only the people around him could understand that kind of mindset. 

Right now, he only cared about getting underneath some kind of shade and going back to the town of Kingsville to get himself something to drink, because he felt like he was about to die of heat and dehydration. 

“It’s so fucking hot. I wish I had the power to control the universe, because I’d make it rain so heavily. Right over me.” He muttered underneath his breath, his movements lethargic and drenched in fatigue, just like his entire body was now drenched in sweat. Averting his gaze to the bright blue sky and placing a hand above his eyes to shield himself from the sun, he took a deep breath and only then realized his chest was hurting, and he needed to get back as soon as possible. “Just give me a sign I’ll make it out alive, alright?” He jokingly asked towards the heavens, letting out a tired chuckle. 

He wasn’t a person of religion, but sometimes he would randomly ask God for small favors if there was nothing else he could do in the situation. When he was younger, he made up a game - if the prayers came true three times in a row, he’d start believing and going to church willingly. Since it never happened, he just sighed and dragged along behind his parents as they had to listen to priests endlessly bullshit about something he thought was completely meaningless. That was another bad side about living in Texas, nearly everyone was religious. In all honesty, it wasn’t quite a progressive state, and he sometimes wished to live somewhere else so he could finally get to loudly express the fact he was gay and be proud of it. Hiding was just too much mental effort for him. He was the only one of his friends who didn’t have a first kiss or a relationship yet.  
Hiding was even harder when he had to walk past the cutest guy in existence every single morning when he picked up groceries at the town market. Arthur Kirkland was his name, and he was an Englishman, a rare species in this area of the States. In Alfred’s eyes, that boy had the most beautiful green eyes and the softest looking blonde locks of hair. If only he could ask him out, be with him, do everything with him… That was the only thing missing from Alfred’s life, but he could never admit it out loud, because if he did, he’d be on even worse terms with his father, and who knew how his brother would react. So in order to keep his life steady, he had to keep his mouth shut.

Some exhausting walking later, he was almost back in Kingsville. By the time he could feel asphalt beneath his feet once again, the boy was completely out of breath, the ferocious heat distorting his vision with black spots, drying his insides out so there wasn’t a drop of water in his body. He was so tired, so done with the unbearable heat. Soon enough, his legs gave out, and he found himself knees on the concrete, glasses falling off his face to the side.  
A string of curses escaped his mouth as he mindlessly tapped the ground around him with the palms of his hands, he had to find his glasses if he wanted to see anything again. He was practically blind without those things. “Shit, shit, shit, shit… I’m so dead.” He groaned in irritation, not wanting to admit to himself that he was scared. But at the end of the day, who wouldn’t be?  
Finally, his fingers got the hold of the familiar object, and he quickly put it back on his face so he could regain his orientation in the space around him. Thankfully, the glasses weren’t cracked. 

As the world wasn’t blurry anymore, something small caught his attention out of the corner of his eye - a white piece of paper he couldn’t read from afar. It could have been anything, someone’s lost shopping list, an invitation card, absolutely anything as harmless as that. And he could have avoided it, like a normal person would in this situation. But his curiosity was stronger than the urge for water, and he wanted to know what it said. What if it was a sign from the universe? Perhaps one of his prayers could finally come true. What if going to church wasn’t a bad idea after all?

Carefully, he stretched out his arm and brought the paper closer to him, picking it up and dusting it off before reading out the words. 

“Alfred Jones, August 3rd, midnight.” 

To say he was scared and confused was an understatement. He was perplexed and utterly petrified. This couldn’t have been possible, it seemed too unrealistic - for him to find a card with his name on it when his body was nearing the end of its remaining strengths. It made no sense. He was sure it was a sun induced hallucination or something like that, it had to be. Maybe there was no paper in the first place, or he was seeing wrong. His vision got worse lately, it must have been that. 

Yet when he blinked a couple of times, rubbed the exhaustion out of his eyes, blinked again, looked away and back to the paper, it always said the same thing. The text written in black handwriting stood there no matter what he tried to do. 

“Wait, what date is it today?” He asked himself, but hopelessly. Who knew. After realizing he had no sense of time at the moment, he made himself a mental note to check the calendar once he returned home. Or, he could ask someone of the townspeople. “Whatever. This is stupid, I’m getting scared over a fucking children’s game. I need to get up and carry on.” 

So that’s exactly what he did - after some negotiating with his mind, he finally got up on his feet and dusted off his trousers before wobbling off to the nearest market place where he could get a beverage of any kind. It was his main reason for getting here, anyway. Along with the shade.  
Still, he put the mysterious card in the back pocket of his dark blue jeans and tried to bury the thought of it far down the depths of his mind. Which was hard, he had to admit, because with every step he took, he wondered what it meant, and why it was there. Alfred Jones was a common name and surname all throughout the United States, but he was the only one in Kingsville who had it on his birth certificate. So it had to be about him, right? Unless there would be a newborn named like that at midnight exactly on the 3rd of August. It somewhat made sense, but it also didn’t.

The market place was swarmed with people of all ages, but Alfred’s eyes only scanned through the crowd for a pair of emerald coloured ones that usually stood behind a stand that sold fresh fruit and homemade juices. Arthur worked around this time on most days, from ten in the morning to two in the afternoon on weekdays. On weekends, he had longer shifts and had to wake up earlier, much to his dissatisfaction.  
When Alfred spotted the Englishman through the ocean of people roaming around the market, he couldn’t help himself from smirking a little before he walked over to the man’s stand in a few faster steps. He had to pretend he wasn’t tired out to the brim, but it was hard to have an attempt at charm when he just spent hours unprotected in the sun. Arthur’s comment just proved the fact he wasn’t looking his best.  
“Good god, Alfred, what happened to you? Did you try to fly into the sun, or?” The Brit’s eyes widened at the sight of the American, and Alfred wanted to fall into the ground at the words. The younger boy’s face slightly reddened out of embarrassment, but he tried to keep his cool. Not that his blush was visible anyway, his entire body was red enough from the heat. 

“Ah, well, almost.” He chuckled, reaching for his front pocket so he could see how much money he had on him and what he was able to buy. “I was out for hours, and forgot my sun hat.”

“Idiot. You could have died.” Arthur rolled his eyes, noticing the other’s move to pay. “Don’t worry about the money, you need to drink something right now. It’s on me.” 

“That’s very generous of you, but you already gave me free apples a few days ago when I was out of cash.” 

“I don’t care.” The older had a stern look on his face, his lips pursed together in a thin line as he observed the obviously exasperated American boy. He knelt down just to pull out a blue plastic bag from beneath the table of his fruit stand, putting a couple of fruits in from each box. “Take this.” He said, handing the bag to Alfred, the movement followed by a swift grab of his water bottle that stood on a wooden chair next to him. “And this. Water is better than any juice when you’re dehydrated.” The boy took the bottle greedily from the Brit’s hand, drinking half of it in only a couple of seconds. 

“I almost forgot what water tasted like,” Alfred breathily spoke, downing the other half right after. He took deep breaths, laughing at himself and wondering how he managed to bring himself in a near-death situation so easily. “Thanks for this, man, you’re a sweetheart.” He gave Arthur a smile, that soon spread out in a full-on grin once he saw the other shyly looking away. He loved those small moments in which he could make him a bit flustered, surprised at how the other still liked him after how many times he embarrassed him like that and made him blush with such ease. 

“Whatever. I just don’t want you dead, that’s all.” 

“Sure ‘ya don’t.” The corners of his lips turned into a smirk as he laid his eyes on Arthur’s gorgeous figure for a couple of more seconds, short enough so it was appropriate, long enough so he could enjoy the view. “Anyway, I should get going, now when I’m refreshed a little. Got a long day ahead of me.” As he turned to leave, he gave the man his usual salute, but he was stopped by a single word that he didn’t know he wanted to hear up until now.

“Wait!” Arthur’s soft voice reached his ears, and he glanced back around at him, his blue eyes glistening with curiosity. What did he want? Maybe a hug? That would be nice. Hugging Arthur seemed like a beautiful thing. Kissing him, even better. But he knew those were only sweet fantasies.

So instead of running up and throwing his arms around the Brit, he instead just simply nodded towards him as a way of telling him to speak.  
“There’s a horse race in Ricardo at ten tonight, I don’t know if you’ve heard about it. Allistor wants to compete, that’s how I heard about it. Just thought you’d be interested.” The twenty-three year old stated in a regular, monotone voice, yet Alfred adored the sound of it. The accent, the gentleness, everything about it was perfect. And the news he gave him sounded excellent. That was all he needed to blow off some steam, a nice race he could win. 

What he loved more than racing professionally were those village or town organized races that no one was obliged to come to, and they were more for the people to relax and enjoy, and for the competitors to have some fun - not to mention, they served as great practice for the when the real thing came along.  
There was only a slight problem. He was never allowed to compete in them, since his father and brother thought it was too dangerous. Which wasn’t far from the truth, a lot of accidents happened during them, and there were contestants that ended up bruised with broken bones. So he always watched and admired them from afar. Perhaps this could be his chance, his moment to show the town what he could do, and charm Arthur a little more - he was confident enough in himself and believed that nothing like that would happen to him. 

“I didn’t know about it! Well, now I know how my day is gonna go. Thanks for telling me.” He flashed another grin, and soon he was out of Arthur’s view, carrying a bag of free fruit and an empty water bottle. It was good he had food on him, because his stomach signaled that he was hungry all this time, so he shrugged his shoulders and took out a nice, fresh apple from the bag, chewing it down in a couple of minutes. 

There were downsides of going away from Arthur. The first one was obvious, he wasn’t talking to his crush anymore, the second one a little less obvious. The thought of the card popped back into his mind, nagging him the entire way home. He realized he didn’t ask Arthur what date it was, and he was still lost in space in time like before, only with more energy and less sun-hit-in-the-head behavior. 

As he slowly approached his house, he was apprehensive about getting back in. In fact, he straight up didn’t want to. The sole reason he almost died out in the heat was his father, who he fought with before storming out and slamming the door behind him with a shout of curses. He was ticked off by the man’s bickering about the same things over and over again, so he wanted to get out of there. By foot. Ending up nearly in the middle of nowhere. He regretted it a little, but then realized he got to interact with Arthur and he got free food and water. “Screw it, I’m going in.” He sighed, opening the front door of the house.  
The place looked like any other Texas town house, a wooden porch, white plastic door with a glass window, a good enough place to live. Not too modest, but not rich either.  
Alfred knew his father was home at the moment, his old Chrysler Imperial 1991 shining in bright red parked outside on the driveway, which meant he would come back to a lot of questions and a worried older brother who probably already thought he was dead by now. Simply the thought made him annoyed.

His theories were proven correct soon enough, when the two people that irritated him the most appeared in front of him in what seemed like less than five seconds since he set foot on the parquet.  
“Where the fuck were you?” His father shot first, crossing his arms and furiously glaring down at his son. The man looked like a taller, more muscular version of Alfred, with a darker shade of blonde hair, but he had a similar cowlick sticking out from the side, and wore glasses that were similarly shaped, so did Matthew. The bad eyesight ran in the family. 

“Chill, I just took a walk to relax.” Alfred shrugged carelessly, putting on an act of I-don’t-care instead of showing he was annoyed by his sheer presence.

“Just took a walk? You were gone for more than two hours! You left your phone at home, didn’t bring your hat, anything, you could have passed out!” Now it was Matthew’s turn to shout, but he made it seem more caring than the father, clear worry showing deep in his dark blue eyes, a colour darker than Alfred’s bright, sky blue. He took the blue plastic bag out of Alfred’s hand and placed it on the chair that stood next to the hangers in the hallway.

Well, Matthew wasn’t wrong. Alfred nearly lost consciousness, and certainly did fall on his knees when his body couldn’t take it anymore. But he’d never mention that little detail to them. He couldn’t mention the card, either, since his older brother would probably make up some stupid ass theory about how that had to be the date and time of his death or something impossible like that.

“Look, I had a good reason to leave.” The youngest in the room pursed his lips together, placing a hand on his hip to look more assertive. 

“Nothing is a good reason to storm off like that, don’t you fucking dare make up bullshit excuses! You’re not going anywhere for the rest of the day.” Jeremy Jones - their father - didn’t feel like putting up with his son’s arrogance, so with those words said, he swiftly made his way over to the living room, the floor beneath him nearly shaking with each fierce stomp of his combat boots on the parquet. 

“You can’t tell me what to do, I’m a responsible adult!” Alfred shouted back, wanting to punch the wall in anger if there wasn’t for Matthew who got the hold of his arm before he could even brace for the painful impact. 

“Calm down, Alfred.” The older soothingly spoke, trying to make the boy feel better. It didn’t really work.

“Oh my god, just leave me the fuck alone.” An eye roll followed a hand being slapped away from his shoulder, and quick steps attempted to run away towards his bedroom. All he wanted was to take a nap, get his mind off things and relax his tired body. Of course, it didn’t go that easily in the Jones family, because everyone around him was always so goddamn dramatic. His mom used to be the drama queen of the house, now it was his dad and Matthew when he felt like being a drag. Feeling his brother’s back on his shoulder, he groaned exasperatedly and whipped his head around to face the pestering sibling. “What do you want from me?” He said through gritted teeth, taking in a sharp breath and glaring daggers at the older American.

“I want you to stop being angry,” Matthew said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Another sharp intake of breath. “Stop treating me like a kid. I can calm myself down, alright?” Alfred replied.

“Well, you’re acting like a kid right now, and running off like that was definitely not something a responsible adult would do.” He crossed his arms, an unfamiliar gaze in his eyes that Alfred perceived as a judging one, making his insides turn at the sight. His brother was judging him for a fuck-up that wasn’t even his fault. It was his dad’s mistake for shitting on his future again, obviously. Even if the boy was always happy, he still needed to let out a breath from time to time. And sure, it wasn’t the smartest idea to go out in the sun like that, but he had more than two hours to think. That mattered.

“What, you’re on dad’s side now?” Alfred asked wide-eyed, wishing he could slap Matthew across his idiotic face right then and there. “Gee, thanks so much, right when I thought I had my brother’s support.”

“I’m not on anyone’s side, I was just worried about your damn life, Alfred! But go ahead, be stubborn, fight with everyone, I don’t care!”

Their bickering was interrupted by the father, who was sick of hearing the high-pitched yelling that made it impossible to pay attention to the television in the living room. “For the love of god, Alfred, just go fuck with someone else already.” He said in agitation.

“Maybe I will, if Arthur’s free.” The younger brother shot back with a smirk, the words slipping out of him before he could rethink what he was saying - and after he saw his father’s and Matthew’s faces turn into ones of confusion, surprise, and disgust, he realized he got himself into some even deeper shit than he was already in.

Matthew and the father looked at each other, then at Alfred, back at each other, and back at Alfred, the blonde boy wishing he could take back what he said. Biting his lip awkwardly, he chuckled weakly in an attempt to laugh it off, but the laughter sounded more like panicked breaths that were easy to decipher as fake, frightened and embarrassed. “I’m joking, obviously--”

“You’re not.” Jeremy said quickly, interrupting his son from saying anything else.

“Alfred…” Matthew whispered, looking down at the floor instead of making eye contact with the younger brother. “Are you really one of them?” He asked, and Alfred felt like crying at the tone of voice in which the words were said. Repulsion. Loathing. They were going to hate him, and for what? For loving someone? The thought of it made his heart clench in his chest, and his breathing instantly became shallow. Why did he have to be so stupid, why was his tongue quicker than his brain?!

It was easy for Matthew. He had a beautiful girlfriend - a French Canadian named Adrienne Bonnefoy - and he got a scholarship to some stupid college Alfred had probably never even heard of. Definitely not the Ivy League, he remembered Matthew’s crying when he was rejected to Yale, while Alfred got accepted a few years later (and then threw his chance away because living in town seemed more like his thing). His father loved him more, and yet he had the audacity to complain about something else every day, while Alfred was the cheerful one, the optimistic, careless spirit of the house who rarely showed a trace of sadness. Annoyance and anger here and there, more often lately, but never sadness, since he barely felt it. When he did, there was a good reason, and it was usually because one of his friends was sad, so his empathetic soul didn’t let it go that easily.  
Yet he was nearly in tears now, and it suddenly got extremely hard to hold it in. He wasn’t sure how to respond, even though the two men in front of him certainly knew the answer anyway.

“Yeah. I like boys.” A soft, almost incoherent mumble escaped his throat, and he looked down at his feet, his shoulders lightly shaking. He blinked back the tears that were bubbling up behind his eyes, but one slid down his blushing left cheek nonetheless. Quickly wiping it off, he braced himself for the impact of aggressive shouting, but it never came. 

Instead, he was awaited with torturous silence. His father stared at him wordlessly, but the disappointment in his eyes was more than obvious, clearer than ever. In fact, his entire body screamed how disappointed he was with his son and everything about him, the only thing that was missing was the vocalization of those thoughts.  
Matthew had the palms of his hands put together as if he was praying - perhaps he was silently praying away his brother’s sins?

What sins? Alfred was a nineteen year old virgin, and he believed he would have to stay silent about it forever and never get it on with anyone he loved. Arthur wasn’t up for it, he was sure. If anything, he had more tragedies than sins. 

“So… No one’s gonna say anything.” He muttered, shifting in place uncomfortably, as he eyed his family members. 

“I’ve got nothing to say,” the father spoke up first, “since you aren’t my son anymore. And this isn’t your house anymore.” His voice was calm, but the words pierced Alfred’s heart like a blade. “I want you out within the next hour.”

It was only to be expected, yet the boy couldn’t help but feel like his entire world just shattered and fell apart right in front of his eyes. He was getting kicked out, his brother wasn’t protesting, his family hated him, soon his friends would know as well, then the town, he was probably going to get kicked out of the racing club, and he would officially have no one. Arthur would finally understand what all those subtle flirts meant, and he would never look at him again. 

All he could do was give an insecure nod. “Okay.” A single whisper, followed by a pleading look towards Matthew to say something, to please for the love of everything stop it from happening, but Matthew did nothing of that sort. Instead, he turned his head away - and Alfred’s heart broke.  
“Go on.” Jeremy insisted. “You’re not waiting for me to change my mind, are you?”

“No,” He quickly replied, walking away from the crime scene and down the hall to his bedroom, that was soon no longer going to be his. The thought hurt like a bitch, he was obliged to leave the space in which he grew up in, the place where he made some of the worst and some of the best memories. He opened the old, chapped wooden door and closed it behind him as he stepped in. Suddenly, it didn’t feel as hot, like there was no sun in Texas and like it wasn’t August. He wished that the card he picked up showed his death date, he wished he could scream at himself for being such an idiot and outing himself foolishly, just because he wanted to be sharp-tongued and show his boisterous arrogance. He mentally scolded himself instead of yelling out loud. 

Looking around, he felt all those warm, loving memories come back to him, like the time he played hide-and-seek with Matthew as a child, or drew his family - his mother, father, brother and himself. That was before he realized what she was doing to him was abusive, and it wasn’t normal for the mum to shout at her son and make him hide, fear for his life. That was before she took her life and left the whole family questioning whether it was them who went wrong somewhere.  
He didn’t know what came up to him, but at this moment, all of those things suddenly started hurting his mind, heart and soul more than they ever did. Before this happened, he never thought of it as too big of a deal since she wasn’t around anymore, so naturally, the yelling wouldn’t happen again. He had read enough books in his life to know that people develop stress disorders, depression, and think of those things as some kind of trauma that shaped them into different people, but it never affected him like that. To him, it was ‘what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger’.

Until now.

He still choked back the tears, not letting himself get overly emotional over this. “I’ll just leave, and be safe again. I’m okay.” He kept telling himself, repeating the last sentence like a mantra. “I’m okay.”

It took him about half an hour and two big bags plus a rucksack to pack all his stuff - clothing, electronics, racing uniforms, helmet, and things he considered valuable for their sentiment, like photos and little notebooks that were by his side through the years. Thinking about whether he should rip it apart or not, he ended up saving the card he found on the floor today and putting it in the smallest pocket of the bag just in case it meant more than he first thought it did.  
He knew his father wouldn’t even look at him, no less drive him to a friend’s house, and he couldn’t just ride off on his horse into the sunset no matter how much he wanted to. Joshie, his white horse, was in a stable a mile away from here with the other racing horses, and he had had enough walking in the sun for that day. So he decided to call up Gilbert, one of his closest friends, hoping he would understand where he was coming from. Perhaps he could stay over at his place until he got back on his feet somehow. 

Picking up his phone, he dialed the friend’s number, hearing the sound of him picking it up after four rings. 

“Yo, ‘sup, my man?” The man on the other side of the line excitedly greeted, glad to have Alfred call.

“Hey, Gilbert… I was wondering if I could stay at your place for some time, if I wouldn’t bother. Before you ask, well, I got kicked out.” He chuckled wearily, but his facial expression remained without a smile. He wasn’t even breathing, afraid of what the other would tell him.

“Of course, it’s not a problem. I can come pick you up in ten minutes, is that alright?” Thank goodness. Alfred could breathe again. 

“Yeah. Thanks so much, I’m forever grateful.” His voice cracked just slightly, but he covered it up with a cough.

“Don’t mention it.” Gilbert said in a cheerful tone, and he would lie if he said he wasn’t excited about having his best friend over to live with him for some time. It sounded like great fun, but he was still worried about why Alfred had to leave his house so urgently. What did he do to get himself in that situation, he wondered. 

Alfred let out a long exhale, throwing his phone aside and flopping down tiredly onto the bed, glancing at the grandfather clock which showed it was nearly time for him to leave. Time went by quickly when he had to leave his house on command. 

Goddammit, it hurt so much. More than he ever thought it would. He didn’t believe something like this would ever happen. Sure, he saw it in movies, teenagers got kicked out for doing stupid things, or being one of them, as Matthew nicely put it, but he didn’t think it would really happen to him.  
Perhaps this was for the better. He was already nineteen, he could get a place of his own and live independently, that didn’t sound too bad. Yet he wanted to gain that independence, not get thrown out like a piece of trash just because he loved someone and had feelings which weren’t considered normal. Why wasn’t it normal? Why couldn’t he just walk up and kiss Arthur in front of everyone at the market, and it would be considered the same as when a boy walked up to kiss his girlfriend? It seemed like nothing but a distant dream. Especially because Arthur definitely wasn’t gay, and definitely wasn’t into Alfred. No chance he was.

“Fuck God, fuck church, fuck the Bible, I want to fucking burn it!” He whisper-yelled, punching his pillow a couple of times in an attempt to replace the sadness with rage. In the end, he just ended up with both feelings making his chest hurt even more. 

As much as he was the one to always look for positives, he couldn’t find anything good about this situation, no matter how hard he tried. He still didn’t allow the tears to fall, because he’d seem even weaker. Boys don’t cry, that’s what he was taught. Boys have to be strong, to protect their women. Boys have to do this, boys have to do that. Bullshit. Useless, utter bullshit. He cried when he was sad - it wasn’t often, but he did. He didn’t want to be strong for his lady, he wanted to protect his (imaginary) boyfriend as much as he was protected by him.  
But he was never going to have that feeling of safety, was he? He was destined to be alone.

“For fuck’s sake, where is all this negativity coming from? I’m not used to this shit!” He groaned into his pillow, tossing and turning on the bed until he lay on his back, staring into the ceiling. “Let’s just try and think positive for a second here, alright? Such as…” Taking a moment to think, he realized he could come up with absolutely nothing. “Damn, this is hard when you lose a place to live.”

Thankfully, his train of thought was interrupted by a familiar honk coming from outside of the house, and glancing through the window, he spotted Gilbert’s black Jeep parked next to his dad’s car on the driveway. “I guess it’s my time to leave.” He mumbled under his breath and tiredly got off the bed, quickly putting on his shoes and taking one more good, hard look around his room, since it might have as well been the last time he would see it.

He threw the backpack clumsily over his shoulder, put his phone in his pocket and took each bag in each hand before taking his leave. Walking down the hallway, he didn’t even care to say goodbye to Matt and his father, and the two of them didn’t even blink an eye when they heard the front door open.  
Oh lord, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, he kept mentally telling himself as he put on a small, fake smile and saw Gilbert wave from the car. The door to the driver’s seat opened, and the half-German half-American walked out with a huge grin plastered across his face.

“Don’t fear, the awesomeness is here!” He gave a military-like salute and Alfred couldn’t help but laugh a tiny bit. It seemed forced, though. Gilbert caught on. “I sense you’re not in the best of moods, huh? Well, you’ve got a good reason for that.”

“I guess so,” the shorter boy shrugged, throwing his bags on the back seat of the Jeep, and opened the door to the passenger’s seat, sitting himself without asking the albino man if he could. He knew he could, they were best friends, and he was there to pick him up in the first place. 

Soon enough, they were both in the car, Gilbert at the steering wheel. Starting up the vehicle, Alfred bit his lip to the point of feeling that metallic taste of blood on his tongue as he stared through the window, blue eyes pierced to the image of his home. He couldn’t wrap his head around the thought that he didn’t live there anymore.  
And then it happened. He couldn’t hold it in any longer.  
Salty tears streamed down his face against his will, and he couldn’t even stifle his sobs properly, unable to hide them from his friend on the driver’s seat. He placed his hands over his face and cried it all out, feeling worse than before as this new vulnerability was exposed on his surface, something that none of his friends had ever seen in him. Gilbert was shaken up by hearing him cry, it didn’t help how he had no idea what to do in a situation like this. Not with Alfred. This was new, and he didn’t like it. 

“Hey, man, it’s gonna be fine… You can stay at my place as long as you want. I know it’s not some great comforting, but I hate seeing ‘ya cry.” The silver haired man placed a hand on the other’s shoulder, his heart hurting more with each tear that fell down Alfred’s cheek. “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you get thrown out in the first place?”

Shit. Double shit, triple shit, quadruple fucking shit. Alfred knew this question would come up one day or the other, but he still didn’t want it asked. Because it meant he would have to tell Gilbert he was one of them, and who knew what kind of outcome that could have. And he wasn’t sure if he could take another heartbreak today. 

Wiping off some of the tears with the hem of his shirt, he took a shaky breath and looked at the car floor instead of his friend’s eyes as he was about to break it down to him. “Promise you won’t hate me?”

“Damn, did you kill a man or something? Don’t worry, I would never be able to hate you. We’ve known each other since we were kids! You can tell me anything.” Alfred being utterly serious, insecure, and in tears - that was certainly new, and Gilbert had absolutely no clue how to act on it.

“I got kicked out because I’m… I’m…” It was right there, at the top of his tongue, he just had to say the word. 

“You’re what?” 

“I’m fucking gay! There, I said it, you can throw me out now like they did, all because I’m not one of them, not anymore...” Alfred shouted out, more sobs escaping his throat and more tears rolling down his face, and he wished he could scream in despair. It was too much, too many feelings at once and he hated feeling so miserable and insecure, something he usually wasn’t. 

Gilbert stared at him for a couple of moments, and he couldn’t decipher whether it was disappointment or simple surprise in his red eyes. He wanted it to only be surprise. He had disappointed enough people today. Fortunately, the staring turned into a loud burst of laughter that echoed through the narrow space around them for a couple of moments as the car was finally parked in front of the German’s house. They were lucky that the guy was a skilled driver, because those few seconds of not keeping his eyes on the road could’ve gotten them bumped into a tree. Not a car, since there was barely any traffic.  
After the laughing fit calmed down a little bit, with a few still ongoing chuckles here and there, Alfred was the one staring in surprise. 

“Uh… Why are you laughing?” He was thankful for the other wasn’t disgusted with him, but there was confusion that needed to be cleared up nonetheless.

“Because I won the bet!” Gilbert responded in a high-pitched voice, followed by a slight giggle.

“Good lord, don’t tell me you and Liz bet on it.” Elizabeta, Gilbert’s girlfriend, did seem like the person to agree to such a thing, there was no doubt on that, but it was still a bit strange knowing that his best friends bet on the topic of his sexuality. He was still sniffling a little and his cheeks were a dusty red, but the tears had stopped falling by now. Thank goodness. 

“Kind of. I told her that you totally have the hots for Arthur, she denied it and said you’re literally the straightest guy we know, then I said that can’t be true, and a bet was formed. Thanks, man, I’ll get twenty bucks of this shit.”

“...Wow. Okay. Whatever you say.” With slight hesitation before speaking, Alfred said the words in a bewildered tone. “So, you’re alright with it?” He had to ask. He had to be sure he was welcome in the man’s home, unlike his own.

“Yeah, why the hell not? Fuck who you wanna fuck. It’s your life, not mine. Your family is a bunch of dicks if they can’t see past it.” Gilbert shrugged his shoulders, while the American boy placed a hand on his chest and breathed in relief. Even in a sea of unacceptance, there was always going to be someone who he could rely on. “I’m surprised that Matthew isn’t supportive, he seemed like a great guy.”

“Trust me, I am, too. But he tore my goddamn heart out. He didn’t yell, just turned his head away from me like I’m a stranger. You try not crying at that.” Alfred said, Gilbert agreeing with him non-verbally. 

“You’re not with those bastards anymore, okay? You’re with the Beilschmidts. In the Castle of Awesomeness.” He flashed him a grin again, and Alfred shyly smiled, averting his gaze to anything, anything besides the man’s face. No matter how many times Gilbert would say it, Alfred still felt judged for being who he was.

“Let’s see this castle of yours then, huh?” 

And with those words, they were out of the car, Gilbert carrying one of Alfred’s bags while he carried one in his hand and the backpack over his shoulder. The boy’s whole family stood at the door, and it was more people than Alfred could ever imagine living in the same house. On the far left was Maria, the albino’s stern sister with a cleaning obsession, next to him were the parents - Cassandra and Leopold Beilschmidt (of which the wife was American, and the husband German), and next to them stood Opa Friedrich, an old man with long, light blonde hair that gracefully fell over his shoulders - the grandpa. He knew these people, since he visited once in a while, but it was a bit awkward knowing they would have to put up with him living there for some time. 

The two approached the door of the house, and Alfred greeted the family in both English and German, just because he could. They obviously liked it, because Leopold gave him a smile similar to Gilbert’s when he was satisfied with something. 

“Guten Tag to you as well, my boy. I heard Mr. Jones wasn’t treating you right, so you can stay here for as long as you’d like.” The man said, and Cassandra agreed with the same spirit in her voice. Alfred was grateful these people existed.

“I can’t believe there are parents who don’t treat their children well. Children are the greatest gift of this universe, and they deserve to be cherished like golden treasure.” She exclaimed with a hint of theatrical flamboyance in her voice, chuckling at herself before stepping aside so the whole family could follow her inside, including Alfred who dragged along after Gilbert.  
Her words created a waterspout of feelings in the American’s soul. Gilbert and Maria were so lucky to have a mother and a father who didn’t throw hateful words at them. They were lucky to have a mother at all, an emotionally available one, a living one, first and foremost. Suddenly, he craved that kind of security more than anything. The softness of motherly love. Perhaps not having it really did leave a trace on his soul, he just didn’t see it up until feeling heart-crushing devastation such as being kicked out, disowned and recklessly thrown into the arms of another family which wasn’t his by blood.

“I do not think it’s a good idea to bring up the topic of parents to Alfred just yet.” Maria stated, everyone agreeing to the words and Cassandra showering the American boy with thousands of apologies for her little theatrical show about the importance of children. 

Alfred silently thanked her for telling them that, because he thought that if one more feeling snuck up to him, he would explode like a landmine. Luckily, Gilbert was the first one to change the topic to how nice it would be to have fries for dinner, and no one could disagree. 

This was a genuinely shit day despite the fact they were going to McDonald’s later. First, he fought with his father, then he almost died in the sun, found a mysterious card that was still bothering him in the back of his mind, then he fought with his brother, accidentally came out, got thrown out and disowned, and he wondered whether there was a way to make it worse. Knowing the universe and his luck with it, there probably was.  
Perhaps racing later in the evening would help him take a breather. He hoped Matt and his dad were going to be there to watch, since he wanted to show them what he could do, and he was never allowed on these types of races before. Kind of like a big fuck you to their bitch faces.

Gilbert took him to the guest room in which he would be staying in, and he threw his bags to the side of the bed, far too tired to deal with unpacking at the moment. The only thing the took was the small, white card from the smallest pocket, the boy’s movement followed by a questioning glance from the German. “What’s that?” The other asked, and Alfred knew he’d have a tough time explaining this one. So he just handed it over for him to read it. “Alfred Jones, August 3rd, midnight? What does that mean?” 

“I’ve got no clue. I found it on the road today and it freaked the shit out of me.” He said. 

The German furrowed his eyebrows in thought, proposing a different perspective to the situation. “Maybe it’s not about you. Isn’t that rich kid’s dad named Alfred Jones, too?” 

“You mean that Australian? That’s Albert James. Not even similar. I’m the only one in Kingsville with this full name.” Alfred sighed hopelessly. “Remind me, what date is it today?”

“August 2nd.” Gilbert gave an instant reply, both boys looking at each other, eyes wide, only a second later. “Shit, you think it could really be something?”

“I hope it’s just a silly coincidence,” he shrugged, the card ending up on the bed. “Now I’m going to take a nap, hope ‘ya don’t mind.” Taking off his shoes, he chuckled, and the other couldn’t deny him that. The boy had a long day, a nice sleep was what he certainly needed. “Wake me up at nine.” 

“Why at nine?”

“Ricardo,” was the only word he answered with, his lips pulling into a smirk. Gilbert understood, giving him a nod of approval and one of his usual smiles along with an a-okay sign with his left hand. 

The next thing Alfred remembered was finally feeling the comfort of a mattress, and it took him only a couple of minutes to regain his wilding thoughts and melt into the pillow, drifting off to the land of sleep.  
At first, there was only a pleasant, peaceful darkness surrounding him, and he wasn’t aware of it whatsoever. The bliss of unconsciousness took over his body, erasing every fear, feeling of anxiety and pain from his heavy heart. It was the most relaxation he had in a while. There was nothing better than seeing the world fade to black and disappear, along with the mental image of his father and brother in front of his eyes.  
Too bad it didn’t last forever, since the dull sensation of nothingness was soon replaced with the world of dreams - better said, nightmares. Something he didn’t experience so often, but when he did, it was nearly as bad as a night terror, paralyzing him and consuming his entire body and mind with its intensity.  
It started off with a misty glow blurring his vision, and he was running through it full speed until he suddenly stopped, looking upwards just to find himself completely surrounded by extremely tall trees from all sides. He couldn’t even see the starry night sky, only tree branches that reached up to space just to blind him with even more darkness, this time a more uncomfortable one unlike when he first fell asleep. He looked around in panic, shifting his gaze from left to right, right to left, and so on, realizing he was alone in the forest. A torturous, deafening silence took over his sense of sound, until he made another step forward, the ground rumbling and cracking beneath his feet - the noise filling his hearing senses until he felt his head could explode. Losing balance, he was about to be swallowed by the earth itself, but a hand on his arm pulled him back and saved him from death. Well, almost. Because as he turned his head to see who his savior was, he thought he had just looked death straight in the face. A dark figure dressed in a long crimson robe, kind of like a headless monk, stood there without any movement whatsoever, having a tight hold on the boy’s arm. Alfred wanted to escape, run away from it, but as he looked down, he saw not a single piece of the ground remain in touch except the small part on which he was standing with this creature. And the next thing he knew, his hands were tied behind his back, and the forest turned into a long, black hallway of which only a part was lit up by a torch carried by the figure gripping his arm. The eyeless creature turned towards him, and the words that came out of it were spoken in a deep grunt, a gruff tone filled with pure loathing. “You are not one of them.” He let out a scream as his body was all of a sudden engulfed in fire, but what he wasn’t aware of was the ungodly shriek echoing through the room in which he was sleeping in. Jolting upwards in bed without knowing, he kept shouting for the pain to stop in every way he could, and before it ended, the creature insinuated only two more sentences as if they came out of a horror film. “Alfred Jones, August 3rd, midnight. You will fall away.”

And his eyes were open wide, a familiar hand on his shoulder trying to shake him out from the bad dream. “Alfred, wake up!” He heard Gilbert’s voice fill the room and replacing the violent screaming, his chest rising and deflating with every sharp, panicked breath he took. 

He blinked a couple of times, regaining consciousness, face to face with his best friend who was wearing a worried look on his face, a sympathetic glint in his eyes. Behind him stood Maria and held her hands over her chest, obviously concerned for his well-being yet unable to find a solution to his troubles.

“It was a nightmare.” He stated bluntly, a tired slur accompanying his speech. “I’m okay.”

Gilbert nodded, sighing and accommodating himself on the bed next to his friend. Suddenly, Alfred seemed tired out by life, something he had never before noticed on his face. Of course no one could be happy every single second, not even the happiest people, he just hated seeing the people he loved in this state. “You need to take a break from these thoughts, alright? The race starts in an hour, let’s get ready to watch. My dad is going to drive us, because he wants to be there as well.”

“I don’t want to watch, I want to race.” Alfred said with a defensive hint in his tone. 

“It will be dangerous, you know. Are you sure you want to do it?” The German hesitantly asked, raising an eyebrow at the other. It took a lot of courage for such a young jockey as Alfred to compete in those town organized races where anyone who owned a horse could be a challenger, and things usually got quite violent. The contestants would turn on each other and try to sabotage the others in the sneakiest ways they could, even if it resulted in the person ending up in the hospital. This wasn’t on an actual race track, with trained people, this was for the people to have their country fun. Definitely not something Alfred was physically or mentally prepared for, no matter how many he had watched play out.

Yet he was more than sure he could pull it off. Perhaps if he was careful enough, it could turn out great. There was a big chance he was one of the best trained people who would go as challengers tonight, so in his head, the only thing stopping him from doing it would be himself. And he didn’t want to stop. “Yes, confident.” He nodded as a positive answer.

His friend let out another sigh. “Only if there’s a hundred percent change you’ll make it out alive. There’s no way I’m losing my best man.” He laughed a little, but his words were honest and straight from the heart.

“I’m not gonna die, don’t worry.” A light chuckle escaped the shorter boy, and he threw his head back into the pillow, placed his hands together over his chest, piercing his blue eyed gaze to the blankness of the ceiling. “Is Elizabeta going, too?” He asked, his body lying down static except his lips which spoke the words and his rising chest that seemed to finally calm down with the frantic breathing.

 

“Of course, she doesn’t miss a single race.” 

She was always one of the loudest people in the audience, screaming bloody murder at the contestants, and the people around her when something went wrong. Her hobby consisted of calculating who would win the next one and then betting on that horse, usually taking the money home with her accurate predictions. Everyone both feared and admired her, she was definitely a popular person in the racing clubs, even though she was never competing herself. Sometimes, she took care of Alfred’s horse Joshie in the stable when the regular hostler wasn’t available. 

After spending a few minutes just sitting in silence, or lying down in Alfred’s case, the American decided it wasn’t the time to get lost in thoughts, rather the time to grab his uniform and get ready. In a couple of slow movements, he got off the bed, and Gilbert followed suit. They didn’t have to hurry, since it was only a ten minute drive from Kingsville to Ricardo, they just had nothing else to do, and both quietly wanted to get rid of the lingering tension spreading through the room. 

When he was finally alone in the room once again, Alfred couldn’t properly wrap his head around everything that had already happened today. The nightmare got him even more emotionally shaken up, and he had to admit he was more than a little scared after the monstrous creature recited the words from the card along with a sentence that could freeze his bloodstream just from the thought of it. What did all of this mean? What would happen to him next?  
Sighing out of pure desperation, he shook his head and slapped himself in the face to get his shit back together, but it didn’t work. It would take a bit more time to set his life straight after what happened with his family, and more mental energy than he usually put into things.  
“I wish I could just like girls. Life would be much simpler then, and I’d still live under my own roof.” He spoke to himself, rummaging through the bags for the uniform, forgetting where he had put it when packing. “I wish I was more aware of the world when I was younger, because now I’m not used to negativity and feeling sad. Who knew my carelessness would make me want to rip my heart out.”  
He got the hold of the dark blue uniform with a red stripe across the shoulder, and the black helmet with an American flag on the side, the letters of his surname written on it in white paint. The number 72 stood on the back. This was the uniform he received in a professional international competition when he was seventeen, a bit over a year ago, the one in which he got second place, right after a Canadian girl who beat him by a meter.

He wallowed in this newfound sadness for some time, pondering the most terrifying thoughts, emptying his bags along the way and taking the rucksack solely to carry the uniform in it, packing it with care. When he next checked his phone, it was almost time to leave. He had to be there before ten so he could get his name on the list of challengers and not waste his chance. “Okay, time to go--”, interrupting his own words, he spotted the mysterious white card on the edge of the bed, where he had thrown it right as he went to sleep. Should he take it with him? Perhaps Elizabeta could help him decode its meaning. And it sure would be nice to know. So with a nod to himself, he took it in his hands and slid it in the back pocket of his jeans. Now he could leave in peace.

Gilbert and Leopold were waiting in the living room, all ready and set for a ride, while Opa Friedrich, Maria and Cassandra decided to stay home and relax with the television. They usually went along, but now simply weren't in the mood. “You boys have fun,” the grandfather said, saluting to his family (and Alfred). “Don’t be too reckless, and remember never to go on the track when they’re racing.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know.” Gilbert gave an annoyed eye roll, but a smile was plastered on his face nonetheless. He couldn’t help it. “Auf Wiedersehen!” He waved, his father and Alfred following right behind. The American boy had his backpack over his shoulder, only his best friend knowing what was in it. The Beilschmidts didn’t know he was going to race, and the reason being that they probably wouldn’t let him. In fact, he was more than sure they wouldn’t.

He took the backseat of Leopold’s old, white Lebaron, while Gilbert naturally called dibs on the passenger’s seat. This was the first time he was driving in a cabriolet, and it was less exciting than he thought it would be. It seemed a bit dull sitting in it and watching the dusty road go by, as if the world had turned black-and-white ever since Matthew turned his head away from him and his father said he wasn’t his son anymore. It truly never would be the same again. In the background of his boiling thoughts, he heard Gilbert blabbering about some insignificant topic to his dad, and maybe him as well, but he couldn’t care less. All he wanted was to ride away to victory and melt in the warmth of evening air in summer. 

During the ride to Ricardo, he wasn’t scared of racing whatsoever, yet with their arrival to the town, there was this sudden tension tying his stomach into a knot and climbing up to his throat in great discomfort. He gulped, hoping he could cover up this unexpected fear taking over his body. Like he could predict something bad was going to happen, but he didn’t know what. “There’s no time for panic attacks now,” he whispered to himself and tightly gripped the shoulder strap of his backpack. 

“You coming?” He was snapped out of the trance by Gilbert pulling him by the arm, his mind instantly flashing back to the nightmare. Wincing just slightly, he blinked upon realization that he was standing next to the car without a single movement of his body. All this deep thinking was out of the ordinary for him. 

“Yeah. I’m coming.” Nodding, he took his steps at last. 

Less than three minutes of them being in the town, Leopold was already in the audience, while Gilbert brought the two of them over to the stables where Elizabeta was in charge of the horses. Alfred didn’t expect that, he thought she’d rather be in the audience. Joshie was in the stable as well, which meant that Gilbert must have told her he’d be racing tonight. He was silently thankful for that, because riding a different horse would be hard on his heart.  
“Hey, good to see you!” She greeted with a huge smile from ear to ear, and bounced off towards them with some kind of paper and a pen in hand. “Alfred, you’ll be the second challenger. Give me the name you’ll use tonight.” Tapping the pen on a column filled with names of other contestants, she said and looked at him innocently. He noticed she left the second row for him, so he could race in the first round. 

“Since when are you in charge of the jockeys?” He asked confusedly instead of saying the name.

She just gave him a devilish smile. “Since today.”

“Damn, you’re good.” The American chuckled, some of his spirits returning a little now when he was around the people he loved, his two best friends. “Put me as Heavydirtysoul.” He grinned, and she instantly high-fived him for the name choice. It was certainly original, better than any name she’d heard that night. For instance, Allistor chose to be called Jazz Master, and that was just some horrible promotion of his jazz trio. Not that they were any masters, only a few British kids who played in bars on weekends for a bit of cash they usually wasted on gin.

“You fucking emo kids.” Gilbert laughed from the side, while the two of them broke into a singing battle of the song. 

Before it was time to separate and the time for Alfred and the other contestants to get ready in their uniforms, Gilbert gave Elizabeta a quick kiss and ran off towards the audience where he met with Arthur in the front row. The Brit politely greeted him with a shy smile, and the German threw an arm around his shoulder in a bro-to-bro way without even asking if he could. Sure, he received an irritated ‘don’t touch’ me from the smaller man, but after he got offered some beer in a red solo cup from the beer stand they stood next to, the annoyance soon went away with a ‘cheers’ and some alcohol.

“So,” Arthur started talking, turning his head towards the race track to see if anything was happening, which it wasn’t. “Where’s Alfred? I was hoping to watch it alongside him, too. He’s always so excited about these.” He was a little hurt not seeing him, since he was the one who told him there was a race in Ricardo in the first place.

“He’s with the other jockeys.” Gilbert said casually, leaving Arthur in shock.

“Are you joking with me? He’s legitimately going to race tonight? That’s like committing public suicide, bloody hell! He’s going to get crushed…” His voice went high-pitched out of worry, an octave higher and louder volume, earning a couple of strange looks from the people who stood next to them. 

“That’s what I thought, too. But he is very determined, so I didn’t want to spend too much time talking him out of it.” Gilbert shrugged, taking a sip of beer from his cup. “Is this lemon beer? It’s really tasty!” He turned to the man selling the drink, causing Arthur to roll his eyes. The guy had a worse attention span than a goldfish. 

“Lord, please watch over Alfred and keep him safe.” The Englishman muttered with a sigh. He didn’t want the night to end in a tragedy, especially if the tragedy was Alfred breaking his bones and ending up half-dead because his ruthless Scottish brother pushed him onto the ground. Truth be told, he didn’t want to see Alfred hurt because he liked him a little bit. Alright, more than just a little. He’d been crushing on him for about a year, but never considered the boy anything else except heterosexual. And admitting he had feelings for him would probably get him fired, maybe even kicked out of the house. He was religious, but didn’t hate. His family did hate. Most people he had met since moving to the States were extremely unsupportive, but it wasn’t very different back in Willenhall. 

On the other side of the track, Alfred was already prepared in his uniform, lastly putting on the helmet and taking Joshie by the reins to lead him out towards the starting point with all the other competitors who glared at each other as if winning this race was of great, life changing importance. Elizabeta told him she groomed the horse before saddling him, which gave Alfred a sense of security since he trusted her more than any other hostler.  
As the lineup began, he bit his lip out of anxiety, knowing he was putting himself in a dangerous situation and surrounding himself with a bunch of testosterone powered Texan guys who needed something to express their anger with, some untrained in this area. Which was risky both for them and the other contestants. He looked around the audience to see if Matthew and his father came to watch, spotting them out of the corner of his eye in the middle of the crowd. He hoped they noticed his presence, just so he could telepathically rub it in their faces when he won. Perhaps he was just as anger driven as the other men.

It was time to introduce the challengers.

Next to Elizabeta stood a young man in a white shirt and a red baseball cap, and she handed him the list with all the contestant’s names before running off towards the place Gilbert and Arthur were standing, which meant her job here was done until the end of the race when she’d have to take care of the horses once again. Alfred couldn’t help but chuckle at her always present bounciness. He was usually like that, too, but with the anxiety pressing on him, he could momentarily just take deep breaths and try his best to focus on staying grounded.

The man welcomed the audience to tonight’s race, skillfully handling the introduction before getting onto the part everyone was eager to hear.  
“First challenger, God of Lightning!”  
What a basic name, Alfred couldn’t help but think. He chuckled to himself, but when the contestant under that name walked up to wave to the audience, the soft laughter died down and fear was what replaced it. Holy shit, this was the dude who was his highschool arch enemy. He had no idea he was into horse racing, too. Perhaps he just wanted to crush more victims like he did with some of the kids in school. Including Alfred a couple of times until he started laughing the insults off and made them his joke. Then he stopped bothering him, and the two hadn’t looked at each other without glaring ever since. The boy was much bigger than Alfred, and even his horse looked like it went to prison for committing murder.  
After an enormous applause, another name was read out.  
“Second challenger, Heavydirtysoul!”  
Shit, that was him. It was his turn. He quickly put on a mask of confidence before walking two steps forward to excitedly wave towards the people watching him, throwing a dazzling smile and a salute to Arthur, Gilbert and Liz who waved back to him from the front row.

From the crowd, Matthew nudged his father to look closer at who this contestant was once he heard the name and realized the only person he knew who would use that song as a name would be his brother. And Alfred it was. “I can’t believe him…” The father said with a hint of irritation in the tone of his voice.

“Well, you did say he’s not your son anymore. Your rules don’t affect him anymore.” Matthew sighed, scratching the back of his neck in confusion. He didn’t look at Alfred the same after what happened today, but something in his head nagged him with the thought of them still being brothers, and how he should be worried for him no matter the fact he was one of them now. But he tried his best to repress it and not feel remorse. Alfred was a sinner, so it was okay. That was his comfort thought.

Names of other contestants were read out, such as Blackjack, Jazz Master (to which Arthur facepalmed more than ever before), Hurricane Katrina, Roxanna, and some that didn’t even deserve a mention judging by how horrible and absolutely cringeworthy they named themselves.

And so it began. 

Feeling the breeze on his skin and in his hair, Alfred took a second to look up towards the sky, instantly averting his gaze back on the race track in front of him. Being carried above the ground felt like freedom. Finally, he was free from the chains of anxiety, away from hatred and disgust, shouting and being afraid. The only thing he knew was the ground, the sound of Joshie’s galloping, and the sensation of dashing over the dusty trails as fresh air filled his lungs with each sharp intake of breath. This was it, this bliss of weightlessness was what he lived for and what kept him in tact with his happiness. No feeling could compare to this. He wished he could do it until his last moments on this world.  
Who cared about what his mother screamed out years ago about his appearance, personality, or everything he liked? He certainly didn’t. He didn’t give a shit what any of them thought of him - his father could hate him all he wanted, Matthew could ignore his existence as much as his heart desired. Alfred didn’t mind. As long as he had this sense of freedom, all of those other things were insignificant. As long as Arthur gave him one of his shy smiles every time he walked through the market, it was alright if he wasn’t his. Just a simple gaze into his deep, intelligent forest green eyes was enough to satiate Alfred’s heart.  
Life was great. Sadness couldn’t meddle even if he wanted it to. Depression wasn’t his thing either. Even if anxiety revisited once in a while, that was alright. He was human. And nothing helped him feel more human than racing. Hurrying, but without a hurry. He didn’t know, but a big smile spread over his face as he held onto Joshie like it was the end of the world. Another detail that went unnoticed was the fact he was beating all of them by much more than a landslide. Allistor, better said Jazz Master, was in second place, trotting five meters behind him. Alfred didn’t care about that so much anymore - in fact, he was oblivious of it, head in the clouds, thinking he was alone on the race track. It wasn’t even a track anymore, just an endless road to the land of dreams in which he was destined to be happy until the end of his days.  
Too bad such a beautiful feeling of freedom couldn’t last forever.

During the time he was freeing himself from the ions of negative thoughts and replacing them with inner peace, he was in control of everything he was doing. Each movement, every pull on Joshie’s reins, it was all in his hands, held underneath his iron grip. For some time, at least, until he didn’t feel as stable anymore. That specific feeling came out of nowhere, and he raised a confused eyebrow at the sudden rockiness of the horse’s galloping. “Come on, Joshie, we don’t have much more to go.” He reassured him with a mutter that meaninglessly disintegrated into thin air.  
To this moment, Alfred didn’t even realize that the sun went down, and he wasn’t aware that his path stopped being lit up by street lights halfway through. Actually, he had no idea in which direction this race was heading, more specifically, where he was going.  
With each passing second, he was afraid that instability was taking over more and more. And his fears came true soon enough, when his horse started wilding and almost threw him in the air. Luckily, his reflexes were quick and he caught on the actions and lowered his body against the horse as much as it was possible. “Goddammit, what’s up with you? Calm yourself!” He shouted out through gritted teeth, feeling a panic attack coming on.  
Joshie didn’t seem to listen, though.  
The horse rushed towards a forest down the road, and when Alfred gathered enough courage to look up, he was more than a hundred percent sure they went off track. Badly. “Let’s go back, please… I don’t wanna die tonight.”

Then it hit him.

The small, white paper with his name and surname on it. Alfred Jones, August 3rd, midnight. Fighting with his father in the morning and running off into the sun. He could’ve lost his life then, but he survived. Went back to town. Fell down. Lost his vision, and fought through the blurriness just to find the message. It wasn’t meaningless, and only now he realized how much it really meant. Fighting with his brother, accidentally coming out, getting kicked out. The nightmare. It was all a part of one big plan, wasn’t it? This was the night going onto midnight of August 3rd. And he was right where the universe wanted him to be. Date, time and place of his death.  
“No, no, no, no… It can’t happen. I can’t let it happen.” His head was spinning, and he suddenly wasn’t able to see properly. Nothing seemed real any longer, and he felt like he wasn’t taking in as much as air as he should have. “Joshie, turn left! Not into the woods, we need to stay away from there!” His voice went into a desperate squeak, and he quickly grabbed the reins again, but his horse stood on two legs in an attempt to kick him off itself.  
He was going to have to deal with this one himself. Again, he held himself tightly while the pale horse was raging around, hurrying deeper into the lightless forest. Alfred decided he had had enough. Bracing himself for a painful impacts of hitting the ground, he threw himself off the horse and fell sideways on the grass and dirt, rolling onto his back and letting out a shout in pain as he gripped his right arm tightly. He hoped he didn’t break anything.  
Joshie took off by himself, leaving Alfred behind to fight off his demons alone.  
“Okay, leave me! You won’t be the first one to do that,” the boy yelled, voice cracking brokenly. It took him a couple of moments to lift himself off the ground, scrunching up his face in discomfort. He dusted off his uniform, limping a few steps forward and taking off his helmet to carry less burden before catching a rhythm and attempting to run out of the forest. The only problem was, he had no idea which direction they came from, and which direction to run in. So he just carelessly sprinted off, no knowledge of the fact that it was the trail which would take him even deeper down into the darkness.

Running was difficult when he felt like crying for the second time today. His vision was distorted once again, this time by the blurriness of tears bubbling up and the familiar fog he instantly connected to the nightmare. So he stopped halfway down the trail, looking around and hearing only the sound of his harsh, rapid breathing. He averted his gaze upwards, hoping he could catch a glimpse of the night sky, unlike what his dream had told him. Turns out, it was covered. He could only see the infinity of trees.  
“This cannot be real.” Alfred whispered, ready to fall down and give himself up to the ground. And he would have, if there wasn’t for the sudden, rough grip on his arm. Before even bothering to look at whatever creature had his life in its hands, he kicked behind him and hoped he would hurt it. “Let me go!” He shouted with all his fierceness, squirming in the other’s hold. He noticed he was doing everything the universe wanted him to - running off, stopping, looking up, just like he did in the nightmare. It had to be close to midnight, since death was obviously at the doorstep.  
Perhaps there was still a way to prevent it from happening, although he didn’t have high hopes. Not anymore.  
“I’m not going down that easily,” he said in a low voice, using the heels of his boots to stop the creature from carrying him away that easily. Even though his hands were held behind his back, he still tried fighting back with all the force in his body. Whether it was kicking around, forcing them to slow down, or straight up screaming, he hoped someone would come and find him because his battle tactic wasn’t goddamn working.  
This wasn’t how he wanted to spend his last days. He wanted to die in peace at an old age, when he had done everything he wished to do. Not alone in the blackness of the forest, held tightly by Death himself.  
Unexpectedly, he found himself being pushed down face first onto the ground, and he didn’t like the taste of grass in his mouth whatsoever. This time, though, he wasn’t able to get up. Unfamiliar weight on his back held him down, and tying some connections, he figured it must have been the creature standing on top of him.  
“Get the hell off me!” His speech was muffled, and at this point, he was getting pretty hopeless about whether he was getting out of this alive or not. 

An extremely loud noise filled his senses of hearing, something like a rusty old car engine with screechy tires that drove more than a hundred miles per hour to get here and hit the brakes like a maniac, but he couldn’t turn around to see if his conclusion was right, or if everything was far too distorted for him to know.  
Still, once he heard car doors slam, he was more than sure someone was there. Maybe they were coming to save him!

Footsteps in the grass. His hands were being cuffed behind his back. The footsteps were getting closer. He was pushed up and forced onto his feet, unable to take care of his bruised face and pick up his glasses from the ground. Alright, he had to deal with being completely blind now, the world around him never so blurry before. 

“Don’t move!” A familiar voice called out from the back in a stern tone, but it was soothing at the same time, in that heart-melting English accent he could recognize from miles away. “Don’t bloody move an inch!” The disembodied voice shouted towards the creature holding Alfred.

Arthur had come for him.

Alfred wanted to scream his name out loud to gain his attention quicker, but the only sound escaping his throat was a weak whimper that melted into the other sounds and went unheard.  
The creature which had the grip on both his arms whipped his head around towards the voice he knew belonged to Arthur, and the American boy squinted from the unexpected light coming from the car. He left the lights on to illuminate his way. 

“It’s okay, Alfred, I’m coming for you.” Arthur said and asserted himself in front of the headless figure that dangerously loomed above the boy he loved. He could lie and say he wasn’t scared, but he knew it too well. Anyone would be petrified in a situation like this. He could pull out a gun, but he knew he couldn’t kill Death. Perhaps he had some power of the universe, still, that much was over the limits.  
He didn’t know where Alfred was at first, and the entire audience panicked at the realization that one of the racers was missing. So he frantically asked Gilbert and Liz if they knew anything about it. That was when the German told him about the card Alfred showed him earlier in the day, and it all dawned in Arthur’s mind.  
The Order of the Headless Monks. They looked for the most talented, kindhearted people they could find, the best of the best, and took their lives away at a very young age. Of course, they didn’t want to barge in like death usually does to people, so they left hints. Such as the card. The only problem was, almost no one decoded the signs on time. Neither did Alfred, and he ended up doing exactly the things they wanted him to so he could become one of them.  
Arthur knew them far too well. Not personally, but he had secretly been involved in the act of black magic and explored the cultures from the Underworld. It was a hobby of his that no one knew about, because if they did, he’d be in big trouble with so many religious people around him. 

He could say he found himself face to face with the Monk, but it was faceless. So he didn’t want to say anything. Instead, he focused all his energy on one thought - saving Alfred before the clock hit midnight and they took him away. He had about twenty minutes left, maybe less. Tracking time wasn’t something he was good at, even in desperate situations. 

“You dare speak to me, mortal.” The dark figure said, its voice deeper than anything Alfred had ever heard. It made the ground rumble beneath them. “You will watch his demise.” He wondered how it was able to speak while being faceless, but he didn’t question other-worldly forces. Not when they were about to kill him.  
Tears were violently staining his pale cheeks, and his hands shook to the point of him barely feeling them. Nerves were wracking his body, he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to watch whatever happened between Arthur and the creature he called Death, not knowing what it really was and where it came from. If he could have seen it anyway with his horrible sight, eyes open or not. He took rough inhales of breath, loudly hyperventilating without the ability to stop. 

“Let him go right away, before I bring them all back. Every. Single. One of them.” Arthur’s voice was just as stern as assertive, putting an accent on each word to make himself seem even more serious and straightforward about his actions.  
In reality, he had no power to bring every stolen soul back to life, but it was the threat that should have worked the best with the Monks.

Yet the creature just gave a rumbling laugh, pushing Alfred up and pressing him back against a tree that was big enough to hold up his entire body. The grip on his arms was nearly cracking his bones from its intensity, and he couldn’t help but shriek at the sudden pain that coursed through him. Arthur’s heart clenched in his chest and fell to his stomach at the sound.  
“Tick tock, goes the clock. Time is running out.” The headless figure spoke, Alfred hating the sinister voice. “Ten.” It said, without any other context.  
Alfred and Arthur caught on, thinking it must have been ten more minutes until the clock hit midnight.

The American boy felt a ghost touch on his neck, and all of a sudden he wasn’t touching the ground with his feet anymore. He was lifted up in the air, the Monk pressing its formless energy into his skin and leaving two traces of what seemed like black ink. Yet he wasn’t fighting back. Instead, when he felt the earth beneath him once again, he looked right at the creature wordlessly and didn’t say a word. 

“You can’t.” Arthur gritted his teeth, running up to Alfred to take him back despite anything. He didn’t care about running in and getting hurt, he needed to get the boy back before it spread over him and messed with his head. “You can’t do this!” He shouted in anger, throwing himself onto the creature mercilessly and pushing it away from Alfred, hoping the other would catch on and run while he still had the opportunity.

Alfred didn’t run. He stood in place, shaking his head as he bit his lip and cried. He couldn’t move, it was affecting him too quickly, the dark ink had already graced his entire neck and was climbing up his face, hurting his skin. He was in great pain, every inch of his body was in pain and neither of them could stop it. Only the Underworld being could, yet there was no way he would.

Arthur was holding the crimson robed Monk down with all his mental and physical energy, but in a single second their positions were flipped and he was on the ground, then pulled up, and with the creature’s strength and defying the laws of physics, he was instantly flung five meters away so his back violently hit a tree trunk. He gasped out, keeping any other sounds in the best he could, and curled up to his knees helplessly. “Take me instead! Leave him be!” He screamed as his eyes scanned around, stopping at the sight of Alfred following the Monk with a lifeless look in his eyes while darkness took over his body. As if he already had no more soul. 

For a second or two, Alfred broke out of the trance, but it didn’t last long. He had no mental strength anymore.

“Five.” They both heard the headless man insinuate. 

Another rumble filled their senses, but it wasn’t a voice. Similarly to the sound Alfred heard earlier, it was a car engine furiously parking. Arthur stared wide-eyed at the familiar vehicle - he couldn’t believe them. He told Gilbert and Liz not to come, but it seemed like they didn’t want to listen.  
The girl nearly jumped out of the car with how quick she was, followed by the German boy whose movements were a tad bit slower. They both held weapons in their hands, Gilbert holding a black revolver while Elizabeta carried a rifle. Surely they were well-equipped since coming to live in America. But the two had no idea what they were going to run into. They expected a murderer, or a kidnapper, something of that kind, definitely nothing supernatural. So when they caught a glimpse of their best friend walking in slow steps behind a half-floating creature of the dark in a crimson robe, his neck and parts of his face turning black, and Arthur shouting behind them as he sat against a tree and didn’t move, they froze for more than a second.  
While Gilbert was still frozen, Elizabeta jumped into the situation sooner than expected. It was her best friend she needed to save before the clock hit twelve.

“Wait the fuck up!” She screamed and furiously sprinted up to Alfred, ready to take him by the hand and drag him away from whatever kept him entranced like a mindless zombie.  
“Liz, don’t come close,” Arthur gasped out, but a big part of him knew nothing stopped the girl once she set her mind on something. “He can hurt you.” He said, nodding towards the robed Monk. 

“Yeah, right, he can. I need to save Alfred first, then I can die.” She positioned the rifle in her right hand as she took Alfred by the arm with her left, and Arthur watched with a bewildered expression on his face. She really intended to shoot this thing that wasn’t even from this world, without any hesitation. The sound of a bullet echoed through the space around them, and she pulled Alfred towards the side once the Monk turned its dark figure towards her. It didn’t hurt it, the bullet just shot right through its painless energy. “What-- How?!” Liz threw the rifle away to the side, eyeing the creature from bottom to top and preparing herself for whatever was about to come.  
Yet, then came the unexpected.  
A glowing red laser beam was created to strike directly at her, and she jumped aside with a scream right in time before it hit her. Alfred was ripped from her hold, and she noticed his hands were turning black as well as his whole face, the ink spreading quicker than before. Soon it would take him over completely, and they would take his soul to form another Headless Monk to obey the rules of the Underworld before they struck the Earth and defeated humanity.

Gilbert was fully aware it was hopeless to run up to her in an attempt of protection, yet he still did. She was thankful to have him by her side, the sight in front of them unbearable to watch. 

Arthur wanted to work his skill and try his best at anything, absolutely anything to save Alfred, but he had no ability to. Since he was thrown back into the tree, he couldn’t lift himself off the ground or use any kind of magic. It was the invisible wall protecting the Monk from dark magic, which he had forgotten about until it was used on him.

As devastating as it sounded, all they could do was watch as their best friend spent his last moments under a spell he couldn’t get out of, step by step closer to death.

“One.” The sinister voice said. One more minute, and it would all be over.

Alfred fell down to the ground. Instead of his knees, he fell backwards and found himself staring up, up at this utter nothingness. He closed his eyes as the last inch of his body was covered in black, and the next thing he knew was the most excruciating pain he had ever felt. Both mental and physical. He was no longer underneath any spell, since the Monk was in the process of taking his soul away from his body. And good lord, it hurt more than anything.  
He screamed as if he was being violently murdered, hands grasping the grass and his eyes opening wide, pupils dilated. This was much more than a panic attack. The intensity did not have the words with which it could be described. “Arthur!” He shrieked out the name, and the Brit couldn’t even listen. It was painful to hear him call out for someone powerless to save him. Elizabeta shut her eyes tight, clutching onto Gilbert as she felt her heart shatter into a billion pieces at the sight. “Arthur, please!” Alfred tried once again, his throat sore from how loud he was.  
A pool of clear, white fog arose above the boy’s chest, and slowly his body was returning to its normal colour, only paler than his natural tan. The mist travelled towards the Monk dressed in crimson, and another same coloured robe formed next to him along with the same energy of darkness shaped like a headless man hovering only a bit above the ground. Alfred’s soul was being absorbed. The process was almost done, they were only seconds away from losing him. 

He kept screaming and gasping for air, calling out all sorts of names, even his brother’s. Anyone, just to come save him from this mess. He didn’t want to die knowing the last thing his brother asked him was if he was one of them. One of whom? Perhaps now, there was a better answer for that.  
Alfred had become a part of the Order of the Headless Monks. 

And with his last breath, he whispered six soul-crushing words as his eyelids fluttered closed.

“I don’t want to fall away.”


End file.
